The Falling Machine by Andrew P. Mayer

the railing as he used it for support. The descent was clearly difficult for his broken body.
    Wickham made a face that seemed halfway between sadness and disgust, and then let it vanish as he turned back to Sarah. “That's very good, Miss Stanton—very logical. I agree that must be a part of it.”
    While there were a number of large machines all around them, the object they were walking to was huge—even in comparison to all the rest. Two massive frames of iron stood on either side, each made from two pillars rising up three stories from the floor to meet at a point at the top. Held up by an axle in bewteen these enormous A-frames was a flywheel so large that it sank down into a cement-lined pit in the earth between them. And rising up on either side were two great pistons, each topped with a massive slab of curved metal suspended in the air at the top of the structure, hanging motionless as they waited for the power that would send them into motion.
    A set of wrought-iron stairs on the left side led up to a walkway suspended twenty feet in the air that ringed the entire machine. For all its massive size and weight there was something about its design that made it look almost ethereal, like a skeleton of an industrial beast
    It was also familiar. Sarah had seen a machine like it four years ago when her father had taken her to the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. It was called a Corliss engine, and it had been one of the stars of the show—a modern marvel of efficient steam power. The engine had provided electric current for the entire exhibition, bringing to life a variety of industrial machines that were used for producing screws and the like. This version was clearly Darby's attempt to improve on that original design, and she could only imagine what it was capable of.
    The old man pointed over to another object standing several yards away. “And do you have any idea what that is?” It was a sturdy-looking iron box fifteen feet long and seven feet high. Clustered around the far end were four tall tanks that looked a bit like mourners hunched over the end of a coffin.
    Out from the top of each tank a straight metal pipe rose upward. After a few feet the pipes angled together into a single tube that then made a hard right angle when it reached the ceiling. Steel fasteners held it fast to the roof as it snaked from one side of the cavern to the other, until it finally dropped down straight into the middle of Darby's Corliss engine. “Do they collect energy from the engine?”
    Tom reached the bottom step. “They do the opposite,” he said. “That box is the…fortified steam generator.”
    “Just so.” The Sleuth pushed forward. “Follow me, Miss Stanton, and pay close attention. I'm about to reveal one of the Paragon's most closely guarded secrets.”
    As a child Sarah had often been reminded that “curiosity killed the cat,” usually after being found somewhere she didn't belong, or after returning home with dirt smeared across one of her dresses. She could hear her father saying the words to her now using the stern voice he reserved for expressing disappointment.
    Of course he wasn't the only person who compared her sense of inquisitiveness with that of a deceased feline. Nathaniel had often reprimanded her for sticking her nose into places it didn't belong, warning her that one day it was going to get bitten off.
    But knowing a rule and following it were very different things, and although Sarah had known that Nathaniel and her father would be very displeased with her current actions, she was not going to miss the opportunity to help the Sleuth unravel a mystery. And clearly, whatever this machine in front of her actually did, it was well worth knowing more about if it truly was a “guarded secret.”
    Up close the apparent simplicity of the design of the box was revealed to be a by-product of the surprising amount of strength built into it. The entire exterior was constructed from flat sheets of